After twenty-two years of marriage, three kids, financial ups and downs, sickness and health, rights and wrongs, I still love “date night” with my wife. At a time in most marriages when the bloom is not just off the rose, but the petals are usually dead, dry and falling to the floor, I feel like I get a new delivery of flowers every week. Connie is without a doubt my best friend. The one person in this world I most enjoy spending time with. The fact that she gets more beautiful every day makes spending time with her all the easier, but it’s her heart that I love.
It’s not always easy…for either of us. You may find this hard to believe, but I do have my moments of a less than “cherub-like demeanor” (thank you, John Pinette for the apt description). Women are not the only ones with “mood swings” and mine are not on a schedule. Somehow, and thankfully so, Connie endures. In one way I am sure it helps that I travel a lot. I’m much easier to take in small doses.
Several years ago our pastor spoke about marriage and said that husbands and wives needed to have time for each other. He said his kids asked why he takes them to Krystal and their Mom to Outback. He told them it’s because he “loves her more.” He pointed out that the kids would be leaving one day, to build their own lives, and the parents would be left alone. If they didn’t have a good relationship and enjoy each other’s company, it would be a long painful retirement…or divorce. Connie and I had been living that philosophy for a while, but it was nice to hear it from the pulpit. We have tried to have date nights on regular basis since the kids were born, but it wasn’t until Shelby got old enough to babysit (for free!) that our dating kicked into gear.
Our goal would be one date night per week, but it’s usually not that frequent. It’s hard to date when I’m in DC and she’s in Oak Ridge. It is a priority for us both, however, so when I am in town, we let the kids know that at some point, we will be going out. On the night of the date, we don’t give them time to argue. We change clothes quickly, grab the car keys, and as we are heading out the door we give them some quick instructions, “Ramen Noodles are in the pantry. Don’t fight. Walk the dog. Don’t call us unless there’s smoke or someone’s bleeding.” Just as the door closes, we yell a final “Love you, don’t wait up!” And we are on our own.
We don’t always go for dinner and a movie, but it’s one of our favorite dates. Connie likes movies, not with the rabid enthusiasm that I do, but she enjoys the experience. For her it’s more about the popcorn. She loves movie popcorn. I learned some time ago that we do not go to dinner before the movie, because we are too full to want popcorn. It is always popcorn and movie first, then dinner, then the discussion of where else we can go because it’s just too early to go home. Unfortunately, Oak Ridge doesn’t have much of nightlife.
Last night our movie of choice was I Love You, Man. We were a couple of minutes late and I missed more than half of the first preview (I tell myself it was the first. There could have been ten more before it. I would not know. Because were late.). I dealt with my depression over arriving late very well, mainly because the theater was mostly empty. We had our choice of seats, and the two other people in attendance did not appear to be chatters. We settled in and Connie took her first bite of popcorn. The look on her face told me it would be a good night.
Sometimes theaters recycle old, leftover popcorn. At the end of the evening, they put the unsold popcorn into large bags and then mix it in with fresh the next day. It’s a perfectly understandable business practice. (I don’t know how they break even with popcorn selling at only $5.50 a bag anyway, so any little jump on keeping costs down is a positive thing. More power to them.) Only the most discernable popcorn eaters would notice the difference, and Connie is definitely discernable. She is used to eating the mixed bag popcorn, and it satisfies her popcorn needs. But last night, at that perfect time, we had that rarest of movie popcorn treats. All fresh, just popped, perfectly buttered, lightly salted, melt in your mouth popcorn. It was nirvana.
The movie began, and with Connie already in a popcorn induced feeling of euphoria, everything was even funnier. Even without the popcorn, it would have been funny. If you have not heard of the movie, it’s the story of a man who becomes engaged, and he and his fiancé then realize that he does not have a close male friend to be his best man. His attempts to find some male friends are both kind of sad and hilarious. We both loved the movie.
Connie laughed a lot, and I loved watching her as much as the movie. Then I started noticing some interesting similarities to my own life. The lead character was spectacularly awkward. His best efforts to say the right thing, be cool, or make a joke, usually left him looking foolish. He was much more comfortable talking to women than men, generally because he was the “safe, platonic, non-threatening male type.” He wasn’t a “sports” guy. He wasn’t a “poker” guy. He couldn’t master those guy “handshakes” which seem so effortlessly smooth when most guys do them. (I have often wondered...did they have a “handshake” class that I was not invited to as a young man? How do guys seem to instinctively know what kind of slap, shake, bump and hold to do, and in the specific order required at any given time? Whenever I try to do that, I end up in some awkward scene where my fingers poke at the wrist of the other guy and our thumbs miss that required interlock to bring the hands smoothly together. I gave up on the guy handshake a long time ago, and now just do a half hearted wave thing that lets them know that I am challenged in that area. They seem to understand.)
As the lead character searched for a Best Man for his wedding, I thought back to my own. My best man was my Father. My groomsmen were my older brother, two cousins and a brother in law. I had not thought about it before, probably because I loved them all and it seemed perfectly natural to make those choices at that time, but now I have to wonder: why did I not have friends? Was I so hard to get along with that only my family could put up with me?
After the movie, as we enjoyed our dinner, I shared my thoughts with Connie. Did she see any similarities between me and the awkward doofus on the screen? She laughed again, like in the theater, and said “well, yeah…of course.” I was once again reminded of how in synch we are about things, and that obviously she would have noticed. It was touching. Then it struck me that she was basically saying I was an “awkward doofus” and I was a little less touched.
Her laugh became a smile, and her eyes looked at me with warmth and love. After twenty-two years of marriage, three kids, financial ups and downs, sickness and health, rights and wrongs, and me being socially clumsy and an occasional embarrassment, she still enjoyed “Date Night” with me. I was her “awkward doofus.” I never felt so blessed.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Shakes on a Plane
For someone who travels as much as I do, it’s kind of pathetic that I am still so easily susceptible to motion sickness. Today I flew from the Ronald Reagon National Airport in DC to the Charlotte Douglass International Airport in North Carolina. It was a good flight, made better by a free upgrade to first class and the more comfortable seat it afforded me. I never get upgraded on long flights. My flights to the West Coast have always been four hours squeezed between two people who are even larger than I am. One of them is usually a sweater. The other always brings some kind of smelly food. Still, it’s a nice treat to get the upgrade for the sixty-five minute flight from DC to Charlotte.
I like the Charlotte airport. It’s big, but unlike the Atlanta airport, you don’t need a train to get around. They have moving walkways to help you make better time. I’ve learned to scope them out before I get on them, because I can usually make better time walking myself. I’m not sure it’s laziness or fear of falling, but a lot of people do not realize that they can walk on the moving walkways. They also do not heed the signs that say “stay to the right if you are not walking,” and then become completely oblivious to others as they try to pass. When you do finally cough and say a loud “excuse me,” they look at you like they cannot imagine what you are doing. Who would want to move their legs when this fabulous conveyor belt is here to do all the work for you? I am very proud that I have yet to slap anyone on the moving walkways.
If you fly from DC to Charlotte, you arrive at a major gate, such as B10 or C15. The gate to Knoxville is usually E72.147-d. Because of a slight delay leaving DC, I had 7 minutes to get from my arrival gate to my departure gate. I made good time. Dodging the crowds and the walkways, I expertly wove my way from one end of the airport to the other. Even with a quick bathroom stop along the way, I made it just after they opened the doors and started loading.
A lot of people print their boarding passes at home so they can save time at the airport. I do not, and there are a few reasons why. First, it doesn’t save me time. I always check my luggage, so I still have to go to check in at counter (I don’t like giving my luggage to the guys outside, that would require a tip). Second, and more important, I like to change my seat once I’ve arrived at the airport. By that time, I am hoping that most people have checked in and their seats are assigned. If the flight is not full, that gives me some options on choosing where I want to be. I am partial to sitting with an empty seat beside me. Part of this is because I am a big guy and I don’t like making anyone else uncomfortable having to squeeze in next to me, but also it eliminates that "total stranger chit chat" scenario. It’s not that I mind talking to strangers, but you never know how much is too much. Do they really want to talk or are they wishing I would just shut up so they can take a nap. Sometimes I just want to take a nap. I find the entire situation awkward and I’d prefer to avoid it.
When I chose my seats in DC earlier that morning, there were two empty seats in the second row on the flight to Knoxville. I took the aisle seat, and with eight other empty seats still available in the cabin, felt pretty confident that I would have the space to myself. It was a good plan, but today, as the last few passengers boarded, a pretty young woman stopped at row 2 and pointed to the empty window seat beside me. “I’m there,” she said.
It could have been worse. In eight years of steady travel, I have grown accustomed to sitting next to a wide variety of folks. Usually they are businessmen, wearing their jackets and ties, on a quick day trip to attend a meeting or make a presentation. I have sat next to two Congressmen on the direct flights to DC from Knoxville (and still see John Duncan on regular basis as he commutes back and forth to home). Some seatmates are friendly and others are stone dead silent for the entire flight, as if ignoring that I even exist. This young woman was friendly, and we chatted briefly about travel and jobs. I learned that she is a consultant for a National Sorority, and I nodded as if I understood what that meant. I told her my daughter would be going to college in the Fall and asked about Greek life. It was a pleasant discussion which eventually drifted off into an acceptable silence, allowing her to work on a Suduko puzzle and me to lightly doze.
The flight from Charlotte to Knoxville on a jet is brief, only about thirty-three minutes. The twin engine props, still in use by USAir for short commutes, take a bit longer, but today, on this particular flight, we were on a fifty passenger jet. The first half of the flight went well. The flight attendant was friendly, laughing and cutting up with passengers. You learn a lot about the attendant if you sit in the first two rows. She told us that she was on the last flight of a four day assignment, and was heading home to Knoxville for a few days off. Two men in the front row were drinking coffee and as she poured them a refill I could smell the rich coffee aroma which I knew was only a tease because airline coffee never tastes as good as it smells. It’s one step up from instant…and it’s a small step.
I glanced over at the young lady beside me and noticed that she was watching the attendant pour the coffee as well. I decided to share my long held and relatively brilliant observation about coffee being served on airplanes. “Does it make any sense,” I told her, “that with all the concern airlines say they have about safety that they still serve hot coffee in cups with no lids?” She laughed and nodded agreement.
Not fifteen seconds passed after my comment, and with both men holding their refreshed, steaming cups of coffee, the plane hit a tremendous patch of turbulence. The attendant quickly sat down and strapped herself in. Her eyes were wide and she said, “whoa!”
Now, I travel a lot, but I dare say that this flight attendant has logged many more hours in the air than I have. When she said “whoa,” I took notice. We pitched to the right and back to the left, then we hit an air pocket that dropped us enough that I rose off the seat and caught against my seat belt. The two men valiantly held their coffee cups away from their laps, the contents sloshing back and forth. I took a few seconds to be pleased that my observation on the ridiculousness of not having lids on coffee cups was indeed being proved, and then I returned to the process of getting ill.
I take Dramamine for a reason. As a child I could get carsick on the two mile drive to church. My poor father learned to keep an eye out for pull off spots at all times, just in case. It got a little better as I got older, but not much. I still can’t ride in the back of a vehicle…I can’t read while riding…and I always take Dramamine when I fly. Today I took Dramamine before I left DC and it should have lasted all day. Unfortunately, the extent of the turbulence over the Great Smoky Mountains at approxiamately 1:25pm caused it to step aside, raise its hands in defeat and say to my defenseless body, "you're on your own."
I grabbed the seat in front of me for support and felt the cold sweat break out on the back of my neck. The chaos continued for nearly three hours (probably more like five minutes, but when you’re seeing your life pass before your eyes, it’s all in slow motion). When it finally subsided, the last ten minutes of the flight were intermittently bumpy, with long moments of that graceful floating feeling that makes a queasy stomach remember every hot dog, corn dog, nacho, hot wing and egg roll it’s ever tried to digest.
By the time we landed, I was in sad shape. Drenched in sweat, weak in the knees, I stumbled off that plane like I’d been riding a merry-go-round for a week. I stopped in the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face, grabbed my mercifully waiting bag from baggage claim and headed to my car. Leaving the airport, I rolled the window down and hung my head out like a dog, letting the cool March wind hit my face and the sweet knowledge that home was only thirty minutes away.
It felt more like three hundred, but I arrived home to my loving, waiting family and staggered past their open arms to calm cool sheets of my bed. With a fan blowing on me and the blinds closed, I let the darkness take me. Only sleep can quell the misery of my motion sickness, and I let it work the magic. Two hours later I sauntered out into the light, giving and getting the hugs that make returning home worth the while. Ready to face the evening and hoping that next week, as I take flight again, my ride will be a little smoother.
I like the Charlotte airport. It’s big, but unlike the Atlanta airport, you don’t need a train to get around. They have moving walkways to help you make better time. I’ve learned to scope them out before I get on them, because I can usually make better time walking myself. I’m not sure it’s laziness or fear of falling, but a lot of people do not realize that they can walk on the moving walkways. They also do not heed the signs that say “stay to the right if you are not walking,” and then become completely oblivious to others as they try to pass. When you do finally cough and say a loud “excuse me,” they look at you like they cannot imagine what you are doing. Who would want to move their legs when this fabulous conveyor belt is here to do all the work for you? I am very proud that I have yet to slap anyone on the moving walkways.
If you fly from DC to Charlotte, you arrive at a major gate, such as B10 or C15. The gate to Knoxville is usually E72.147-d. Because of a slight delay leaving DC, I had 7 minutes to get from my arrival gate to my departure gate. I made good time. Dodging the crowds and the walkways, I expertly wove my way from one end of the airport to the other. Even with a quick bathroom stop along the way, I made it just after they opened the doors and started loading.
A lot of people print their boarding passes at home so they can save time at the airport. I do not, and there are a few reasons why. First, it doesn’t save me time. I always check my luggage, so I still have to go to check in at counter (I don’t like giving my luggage to the guys outside, that would require a tip). Second, and more important, I like to change my seat once I’ve arrived at the airport. By that time, I am hoping that most people have checked in and their seats are assigned. If the flight is not full, that gives me some options on choosing where I want to be. I am partial to sitting with an empty seat beside me. Part of this is because I am a big guy and I don’t like making anyone else uncomfortable having to squeeze in next to me, but also it eliminates that "total stranger chit chat" scenario. It’s not that I mind talking to strangers, but you never know how much is too much. Do they really want to talk or are they wishing I would just shut up so they can take a nap. Sometimes I just want to take a nap. I find the entire situation awkward and I’d prefer to avoid it.
When I chose my seats in DC earlier that morning, there were two empty seats in the second row on the flight to Knoxville. I took the aisle seat, and with eight other empty seats still available in the cabin, felt pretty confident that I would have the space to myself. It was a good plan, but today, as the last few passengers boarded, a pretty young woman stopped at row 2 and pointed to the empty window seat beside me. “I’m there,” she said.
It could have been worse. In eight years of steady travel, I have grown accustomed to sitting next to a wide variety of folks. Usually they are businessmen, wearing their jackets and ties, on a quick day trip to attend a meeting or make a presentation. I have sat next to two Congressmen on the direct flights to DC from Knoxville (and still see John Duncan on regular basis as he commutes back and forth to home). Some seatmates are friendly and others are stone dead silent for the entire flight, as if ignoring that I even exist. This young woman was friendly, and we chatted briefly about travel and jobs. I learned that she is a consultant for a National Sorority, and I nodded as if I understood what that meant. I told her my daughter would be going to college in the Fall and asked about Greek life. It was a pleasant discussion which eventually drifted off into an acceptable silence, allowing her to work on a Suduko puzzle and me to lightly doze.
The flight from Charlotte to Knoxville on a jet is brief, only about thirty-three minutes. The twin engine props, still in use by USAir for short commutes, take a bit longer, but today, on this particular flight, we were on a fifty passenger jet. The first half of the flight went well. The flight attendant was friendly, laughing and cutting up with passengers. You learn a lot about the attendant if you sit in the first two rows. She told us that she was on the last flight of a four day assignment, and was heading home to Knoxville for a few days off. Two men in the front row were drinking coffee and as she poured them a refill I could smell the rich coffee aroma which I knew was only a tease because airline coffee never tastes as good as it smells. It’s one step up from instant…and it’s a small step.
I glanced over at the young lady beside me and noticed that she was watching the attendant pour the coffee as well. I decided to share my long held and relatively brilliant observation about coffee being served on airplanes. “Does it make any sense,” I told her, “that with all the concern airlines say they have about safety that they still serve hot coffee in cups with no lids?” She laughed and nodded agreement.
Not fifteen seconds passed after my comment, and with both men holding their refreshed, steaming cups of coffee, the plane hit a tremendous patch of turbulence. The attendant quickly sat down and strapped herself in. Her eyes were wide and she said, “whoa!”
Now, I travel a lot, but I dare say that this flight attendant has logged many more hours in the air than I have. When she said “whoa,” I took notice. We pitched to the right and back to the left, then we hit an air pocket that dropped us enough that I rose off the seat and caught against my seat belt. The two men valiantly held their coffee cups away from their laps, the contents sloshing back and forth. I took a few seconds to be pleased that my observation on the ridiculousness of not having lids on coffee cups was indeed being proved, and then I returned to the process of getting ill.
I take Dramamine for a reason. As a child I could get carsick on the two mile drive to church. My poor father learned to keep an eye out for pull off spots at all times, just in case. It got a little better as I got older, but not much. I still can’t ride in the back of a vehicle…I can’t read while riding…and I always take Dramamine when I fly. Today I took Dramamine before I left DC and it should have lasted all day. Unfortunately, the extent of the turbulence over the Great Smoky Mountains at approxiamately 1:25pm caused it to step aside, raise its hands in defeat and say to my defenseless body, "you're on your own."
I grabbed the seat in front of me for support and felt the cold sweat break out on the back of my neck. The chaos continued for nearly three hours (probably more like five minutes, but when you’re seeing your life pass before your eyes, it’s all in slow motion). When it finally subsided, the last ten minutes of the flight were intermittently bumpy, with long moments of that graceful floating feeling that makes a queasy stomach remember every hot dog, corn dog, nacho, hot wing and egg roll it’s ever tried to digest.
By the time we landed, I was in sad shape. Drenched in sweat, weak in the knees, I stumbled off that plane like I’d been riding a merry-go-round for a week. I stopped in the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face, grabbed my mercifully waiting bag from baggage claim and headed to my car. Leaving the airport, I rolled the window down and hung my head out like a dog, letting the cool March wind hit my face and the sweet knowledge that home was only thirty minutes away.
It felt more like three hundred, but I arrived home to my loving, waiting family and staggered past their open arms to calm cool sheets of my bed. With a fan blowing on me and the blinds closed, I let the darkness take me. Only sleep can quell the misery of my motion sickness, and I let it work the magic. Two hours later I sauntered out into the light, giving and getting the hugs that make returning home worth the while. Ready to face the evening and hoping that next week, as I take flight again, my ride will be a little smoother.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Going 12 Rounds
I love movies. I have loved movies since I was a kid. I love walking into a dark theater with a massive cup of soda and bag of popcorn (no extra butter for me, if I am alone and get to choose). It may be hard for you to believe, but I am fairly picky about my moviegoing experience. I refuse to go if I am going to be late. I arrive in time for the previews, because they are often times better than the movie itself. I hate it when people talk during a movie. Just once I would love to go over to a couple of "movie talkers" and hand them five dollars and a note saying that they should go to a nice coffee shop and have a chat, because the rest of us paid to WATCH THE MOVIE! It also bugs me when people text during the movie. What is so important that it can't wait until the movie is over? I doubt that any of the teens that frequent the Oak Ridge Tinseltown theater are getting regular reports from the Pentagon on troop movements in Afghanistan. I know I should ignore it, but every time I see one of those obnoxious glows pop up in the corner of my eye, I want hurl my half gallon of Diet Coke right at them.
This evening I was in a mood for a movie. The thought of another night staring at the television or my computer screen in my lonely hotel room was getting me depressed. I braved the crowded Metro and headed to Gallery Place/Chinatown Regal Theater. I have been there many times in the past, and knew what to expect. DC is a totally different atmosphere to see a film than Oak Ridge. People don't just talk to each other, they carry on boisterous conversations. They don't just text on their cell phones, they answer calls, make calls, check sports scores and play video games. For a movie-going snob like myself, it's an air conditioned version of Hell.
I learned from previous visits not to go to a movie I really cared about in DC. I ended up angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. I tend to pout. If I really want to see a movie in DC, I try to choose movies where I can leave my brain a the door. Loud, action movies that will help me tune out the conversations behind me about someones cousins hernia operation. Not that I don't love a good "hernia operation" story, but there has to be a right time and a right place. Movie theater: not one of them.
Tonight I chose to watch "12 Rounds," starring John Cena. I was vaguely aware that he is a wrestler for the WWE or the WWF or the VFW or something, but I knew little about the man. I normally stay away from movies starring wrestlers, boxers or Nascar drivers...it's a little rule that has served me well in the past, but he was not the reason I wanted to see this movie. "12 Rounds" was directed by Renny Harlin, who I'm sure you all know directed Die Hard 2, Cliffhanger, The Long Kiss Goodnight, Mindhunters and Deep Blue Sea, just to name a few. He's a dependable action director, who always seems to add an extra touch of humor and character to his films. I'm a fan.
So, despite the wrestler star, I settled in and was ready to enjoy a good little thrill ride. The previews had led me to believe that it was a cross between Speed and Die Hard With a Vengeance (which, in case you don't remember, was the third Die Hard and had a story line which involved Bruce Willis being forced to run all over New York City playing a sick game with a vengeful master criminal). As the movie progressed, I realized I had been 99.9% correct (I just can't imagine it being possible that I would ever be 100% correct about anything), and the movie was EXACTLY the slightly hyper, not very bright child of Speed and Die Hard with a Vengeance!
John Cena, it turns out, was a decent leading man. He showed some range, including anger, warmth, humor, constipation (which I think was supposed to be sadness, but the way he gritted his teeth made me think otherwise). He'll definitely never win an Oscar, and will probably never be allowed to attend the ceremony, but for a B-grade action movie, he was pretty good.
The "12 Rounds" of the title are individual tasks that Cena must overcome in order to beat the villain (who has kidnapped Cena's girlfriend). Somewhere near "round 6" I started thinking "are they really going to do 12 of these?" The answer was "yes...count them...twelve." It went a little long, and although some of the action was impressive, I grew a little bored.
Then came the ending. Wow. My jaw dropped. My breath froze. I was amazed. I instantly lost twenty five IQ points just by experiencing it.
This is what I don't understand. A big budget movie is not made by one person. If it were made by just one person, I could understand that they might miss something. They are under a lot of pressure, and in the creation of their masterpiece, they might not notice something that would otherwise seem glaring. No, a big budget studio movie is made by TEAMS of people. Before and after a script is purchased, it is read by teams of script analysts, producers, lawyers, budget analysts, etc, etc. They all are a piece of the movie making puzzle, and they all have comments on the script. Sometimes (usually) the script is re-written. Sometimes by teams of writers.
There is the pre-production process, where the Producers, Director, and other vital members of the crew dissect the script and plan for the individual scenes. Lots more teams are involved in this process. They all have access to the the script and they all have some type of input on the finished film.
Filming begins and the actors (or wrestlers) get involved. They have access to the script and the have some type of input on the finished film. More teams and crews are involved during the filming process, and once again, they have some type of input on the finished film.
Let me back up and point out that someone agreed to pay for all this. They read the script (or at least I assume they read it...maybe they have pretty girls with British accents read them all of the scripts. That might explain a lot. Everything sounds better when read with a British accent). Millions of dollars are on the line at this point and by the time the film finishes production, it could easily be forty to eighty million for a film of this scope. That doesn't count marketing and print costs (each theater gets its own copy of the film, and printing 2500 copies of a film is not cheap). Making a studio film is a major investment.
So, the film is edited and previewed for the Producers, Studio Execs and Marketing experts at Fox Studios. They all sat silently as the finale of the film rolled by. They patted themselves on the back, smoked some expensive Cuban cigars and went to sleep that night dreaming of the money they were going to make off this wrestler movie called "12 Rounds."
Only they all missed something important. The ending is ridiculous. Not just a little bit ridiculous, it's laugh out loud, stunningly off the chart ridiculous. I do not have a problem suspending disbelief in the name of a good time at the movies. When the bus jumped the section of the unfinished freeway in Speed, I knew it was kind of crazy, but I was having such a good time, I didn't care. I can watch Indiana Jones escape a nuclear explosion without loosing any of his greying chest hair all day long (that didn't sound quite the way I meant it to). But sometimes a movie crosses the line to such a degree that it completely ruins the movie.
Spoiler Alert (the next paragraphs give away the ending of 12 Rounds. If you are dying to see this movie without having the ending ruined, then don't read further. Also, don't see the movie trailer, because the ending is shown there as well): In the "twelfth" round, the villain is forcing Cena's girlfriend to pilot a medical helicopter full of cash hidden in a soaking wet body bag to a country that has liberal extradition laws (in case you are wondering, no, this was not the stupid part). While she is trying to take off, Cena arrives at the hospital, makes it up to the roof of the multi-storied building and makes a lengthy leap off the roof to catch one skid of the chopper, where he hangs on for dear life (no, still not to the stupid part). Cena and the villian battle for control of a gun as they hang out the door of the helicopter and precede to shoot various important looking parts of the engine (we know the are important because we get close-ups of liquid pouring out). Finally, they both get inside, where Cena uses his brute Wrestling skills to thrash the villain around the interior, eventually knocking him unconscious.
Problem #1: After all the villain had put him through that day, including the kidnapping of his girlfriend/helicopter pilot, the murder of his partner, blowing up his house and his plumber (you had to be there), and killing an overweight security guard who had a wife and kids (he made sure to point that out just before he died), the audience was more than ready to see Cena grab the guy by the collar and toss him out the door to his deserved death. It's a movie, we can be a bit bloodthirsty. But no, what does he do? He turns his back on him and starts chatting with his girlfriend/chopper pilot about how they might crash. Dumb.
The villain attacks again and Cena uses his Wrestler superpowers to stop him, but the villain has one more surprise up his sleeve. He's wired to explode. He laughs, telling them they will all die and he's won the game. Ha Ha. Ha Ha. Ha Ha. (you had to imagine an evil villain laugh right there, otherwise, it was just kind of lame).
Cena, not to be outdone, and because it would really suck for the hero and his girl to die, grabs his girl from her pilot seat and says "Do you trust me?"
Problem #2: Cena and girlfriend/helicopter pilot stand on the skid of the helicopter that has been shot up and is about to crash. AMAZINGLY, and without anyone at the controls, the chopper hovers, almost frozen, over a high rise apartment complex. CONVENIENTLY, there is a rooftop pool. With STUNNING precision, Cena and girlfriend/helicopter pilot jump directly into the center of the small pool. The helicopter explodes (actually, the villain exploded and he just happened to still be inside the helicopter) and cash rains down on the pool, but LUCKILY no propellers, burning fuel or large chunks of metallic debris fall on Cena and girlfriend/helicopter pilot.
Cena and girlfriend/helicopter pilot live Happily Ever After.
Back to my point (and I do have one, believe it or not): How did someone involved, out the hundreds of people involved on this film, not say to someone at some point, "you know, that ending is kind of stupid." And how did that not start a chain reaction of agreements that YES, that ending IS kind of stupid. There are probably 500 better ways to end the movie than what is there, and yet no one had the nerve, brains, guts or common sense to suggest them. You'd think this film was made by the execs at AIG.
This evening I was in a mood for a movie. The thought of another night staring at the television or my computer screen in my lonely hotel room was getting me depressed. I braved the crowded Metro and headed to Gallery Place/Chinatown Regal Theater. I have been there many times in the past, and knew what to expect. DC is a totally different atmosphere to see a film than Oak Ridge. People don't just talk to each other, they carry on boisterous conversations. They don't just text on their cell phones, they answer calls, make calls, check sports scores and play video games. For a movie-going snob like myself, it's an air conditioned version of Hell.
I learned from previous visits not to go to a movie I really cared about in DC. I ended up angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. I tend to pout. If I really want to see a movie in DC, I try to choose movies where I can leave my brain a the door. Loud, action movies that will help me tune out the conversations behind me about someones cousins hernia operation. Not that I don't love a good "hernia operation" story, but there has to be a right time and a right place. Movie theater: not one of them.
Tonight I chose to watch "12 Rounds," starring John Cena. I was vaguely aware that he is a wrestler for the WWE or the WWF or the VFW or something, but I knew little about the man. I normally stay away from movies starring wrestlers, boxers or Nascar drivers...it's a little rule that has served me well in the past, but he was not the reason I wanted to see this movie. "12 Rounds" was directed by Renny Harlin, who I'm sure you all know directed Die Hard 2, Cliffhanger, The Long Kiss Goodnight, Mindhunters and Deep Blue Sea, just to name a few. He's a dependable action director, who always seems to add an extra touch of humor and character to his films. I'm a fan.
So, despite the wrestler star, I settled in and was ready to enjoy a good little thrill ride. The previews had led me to believe that it was a cross between Speed and Die Hard With a Vengeance (which, in case you don't remember, was the third Die Hard and had a story line which involved Bruce Willis being forced to run all over New York City playing a sick game with a vengeful master criminal). As the movie progressed, I realized I had been 99.9% correct (I just can't imagine it being possible that I would ever be 100% correct about anything), and the movie was EXACTLY the slightly hyper, not very bright child of Speed and Die Hard with a Vengeance!
John Cena, it turns out, was a decent leading man. He showed some range, including anger, warmth, humor, constipation (which I think was supposed to be sadness, but the way he gritted his teeth made me think otherwise). He'll definitely never win an Oscar, and will probably never be allowed to attend the ceremony, but for a B-grade action movie, he was pretty good.
The "12 Rounds" of the title are individual tasks that Cena must overcome in order to beat the villain (who has kidnapped Cena's girlfriend). Somewhere near "round 6" I started thinking "are they really going to do 12 of these?" The answer was "yes...count them...twelve." It went a little long, and although some of the action was impressive, I grew a little bored.
Then came the ending. Wow. My jaw dropped. My breath froze. I was amazed. I instantly lost twenty five IQ points just by experiencing it.
This is what I don't understand. A big budget movie is not made by one person. If it were made by just one person, I could understand that they might miss something. They are under a lot of pressure, and in the creation of their masterpiece, they might not notice something that would otherwise seem glaring. No, a big budget studio movie is made by TEAMS of people. Before and after a script is purchased, it is read by teams of script analysts, producers, lawyers, budget analysts, etc, etc. They all are a piece of the movie making puzzle, and they all have comments on the script. Sometimes (usually) the script is re-written. Sometimes by teams of writers.
There is the pre-production process, where the Producers, Director, and other vital members of the crew dissect the script and plan for the individual scenes. Lots more teams are involved in this process. They all have access to the the script and they all have some type of input on the finished film.
Filming begins and the actors (or wrestlers) get involved. They have access to the script and the have some type of input on the finished film. More teams and crews are involved during the filming process, and once again, they have some type of input on the finished film.
Let me back up and point out that someone agreed to pay for all this. They read the script (or at least I assume they read it...maybe they have pretty girls with British accents read them all of the scripts. That might explain a lot. Everything sounds better when read with a British accent). Millions of dollars are on the line at this point and by the time the film finishes production, it could easily be forty to eighty million for a film of this scope. That doesn't count marketing and print costs (each theater gets its own copy of the film, and printing 2500 copies of a film is not cheap). Making a studio film is a major investment.
So, the film is edited and previewed for the Producers, Studio Execs and Marketing experts at Fox Studios. They all sat silently as the finale of the film rolled by. They patted themselves on the back, smoked some expensive Cuban cigars and went to sleep that night dreaming of the money they were going to make off this wrestler movie called "12 Rounds."
Only they all missed something important. The ending is ridiculous. Not just a little bit ridiculous, it's laugh out loud, stunningly off the chart ridiculous. I do not have a problem suspending disbelief in the name of a good time at the movies. When the bus jumped the section of the unfinished freeway in Speed, I knew it was kind of crazy, but I was having such a good time, I didn't care. I can watch Indiana Jones escape a nuclear explosion without loosing any of his greying chest hair all day long (that didn't sound quite the way I meant it to). But sometimes a movie crosses the line to such a degree that it completely ruins the movie.
Spoiler Alert (the next paragraphs give away the ending of 12 Rounds. If you are dying to see this movie without having the ending ruined, then don't read further. Also, don't see the movie trailer, because the ending is shown there as well): In the "twelfth" round, the villain is forcing Cena's girlfriend to pilot a medical helicopter full of cash hidden in a soaking wet body bag to a country that has liberal extradition laws (in case you are wondering, no, this was not the stupid part). While she is trying to take off, Cena arrives at the hospital, makes it up to the roof of the multi-storied building and makes a lengthy leap off the roof to catch one skid of the chopper, where he hangs on for dear life (no, still not to the stupid part). Cena and the villian battle for control of a gun as they hang out the door of the helicopter and precede to shoot various important looking parts of the engine (we know the are important because we get close-ups of liquid pouring out). Finally, they both get inside, where Cena uses his brute Wrestling skills to thrash the villain around the interior, eventually knocking him unconscious.
Problem #1: After all the villain had put him through that day, including the kidnapping of his girlfriend/helicopter pilot, the murder of his partner, blowing up his house and his plumber (you had to be there), and killing an overweight security guard who had a wife and kids (he made sure to point that out just before he died), the audience was more than ready to see Cena grab the guy by the collar and toss him out the door to his deserved death. It's a movie, we can be a bit bloodthirsty. But no, what does he do? He turns his back on him and starts chatting with his girlfriend/chopper pilot about how they might crash. Dumb.
The villain attacks again and Cena uses his Wrestler superpowers to stop him, but the villain has one more surprise up his sleeve. He's wired to explode. He laughs, telling them they will all die and he's won the game. Ha Ha. Ha Ha. Ha Ha. (you had to imagine an evil villain laugh right there, otherwise, it was just kind of lame).
Cena, not to be outdone, and because it would really suck for the hero and his girl to die, grabs his girl from her pilot seat and says "Do you trust me?"
Problem #2: Cena and girlfriend/helicopter pilot stand on the skid of the helicopter that has been shot up and is about to crash. AMAZINGLY, and without anyone at the controls, the chopper hovers, almost frozen, over a high rise apartment complex. CONVENIENTLY, there is a rooftop pool. With STUNNING precision, Cena and girlfriend/helicopter pilot jump directly into the center of the small pool. The helicopter explodes (actually, the villain exploded and he just happened to still be inside the helicopter) and cash rains down on the pool, but LUCKILY no propellers, burning fuel or large chunks of metallic debris fall on Cena and girlfriend/helicopter pilot.
Cena and girlfriend/helicopter pilot live Happily Ever After.
Back to my point (and I do have one, believe it or not): How did someone involved, out the hundreds of people involved on this film, not say to someone at some point, "you know, that ending is kind of stupid." And how did that not start a chain reaction of agreements that YES, that ending IS kind of stupid. There are probably 500 better ways to end the movie than what is there, and yet no one had the nerve, brains, guts or common sense to suggest them. You'd think this film was made by the execs at AIG.
Choices
I have a lot of time to think as I sit in my lonely hotel rooms, night after night. Extensive travel can make you thoughtful (and also verbose and a little bit crazy, so my apologies for the way I continue to unload my scattered thoughts into these notes). It gives me time to consider a lot of things I might not have told my daughters, and if I did tell them, I’m not sure I articulated it well. Certainly, my example in a lot of the life lessons I want to convey has not been the best. I’m lousy with money, not nearly as good a friend as I want to be, and career wise, let’s just say I flew way off course from anything I ever considered in the first half of my life. I’ve learned a few things, and still learning. I'm still making mistakes too, but hopefully not the same ones over and over.
We might not be selfish enough to think about it, or certainly to admit it, but we each live in our own world. No matter how charitable, sacrificial and selfless we think we are, we still see the world through our own eyes. We touch with our own skin. We feel with our own heart. Every perception is different. Every vantage point gives a slightly different view. We are individuals. We each make our own choices and we each deal with the repercussions in our own way. At the end of the road, we’ll have no one to blame for our final destination but ourselves.
Despite all the outside influences and things that are totally out of our control, it is the decisions we make ourselves that truly shape our world.
• Who your friends are… Your choice of friends can either build you up or tear you down. Choose wisely. Sometimes a “good” friend is not good for you. Don’t change your values because they make it look appealing. Also, it’s easy to say that it doesn’t matter what other people think…and in general, I agree…but you are often judged by who your friends are. Despite the fact that it is ridiculous and unfair, it happens, and you probably do it too. Choose wisely where you stand and who you stand with.
• Be a good friend… If you make a friend, be one. First and foremost, listen…and pay attention, because you will be quizzed on it later. A friend has a basic expectation that you will remember what is important to them. Keep their confidences. Protect them in discussions when they are not able to protect themselves. Respect their ability to make other friends…because if they are a good friend for you, why wouldn’t they be a good friend for someone else? Be a good friend to their friends. Celebrate their victories and comfort them in their low times. Laugh with them. Cry with them. Want them to be happy.
• Who you marry… A friend, a partner, and most importantly…someone who will forgive you for the many mistakes you will no doubt make in the future. Choose this person even more wisely than all your friends. Pray about it. Set the bar high. Don’t marry someone and expect them to change for you. Don’t plan to “fix them.” Learn their core values and make sure they mesh with yours. Test them out in stressful situations. It’s kind of a test drive for what you are in for the rest of your life. Pray about it some more. Ask every question you can think of before putting on that ring, because the answers are harder to take after you’ve said the vows. Be sure. Be very, very sure.
• Once you are married… (I’ll have to deal with this later. Don’t really want to think that far ahead right now…and it’s kind of making me ill to think about it)
• Do you want a career or just a job? You should always “work to live, and not live to work,” but try to find something you enjoy doing. You will spend most of your weekday, daylight hours doing what you choose. Don’t hate it.
• Where you work… Within the confines of that career/job you must choose who your employer will be. Obviously, they will have something to do with that choice, and your first, second or third choice may not see the benefit of your unique skills, but DO NOT SETTLE…or at least, DO NOT SETTLE FOR LONG. You have to earn a living, but don’t get caught in a rut that you cannot escape from. If you don’t like where you are, keep looking and don’t be afraid to make the jump to something better. Life is short and it’s not worth working in a job you are miserable doing.
• How you work… Take pride in what you do, no matter what you do. Don’t look for the least that you can get away with and still get by. Find ways to improve what you do, even if it’s not noticed by anyone else. Make yourself invaluable. Be willing to learn, serve others and get your hands dirty. That will get you noticed. That will make you feel good about yourself at the end of a long day.
• Save… Easier said than done, I know, but tuck some money away for life’s little surprises. Only use it for emergencies (not vacations or a big screen television). Put it away somewhere safe, easily accessible, and keep adding to it. Then forget it’s there until you really need it.
• Be Frugal… Don’t waste money on pointless items. Set a budget and adhere to it. Make going out to eat a special event, not a daily menu option (you’ll always prefer Outback over home cooked veggies if you get the choice). Choose wisely what you truly need and what you think you want. Ten $5.00 frozen Frappaccinos from Starbucks add up to a really nice blouse. (And if you buy the ten Frappaccinos, then you not only won’t have the money for the clothing purchase, you’ll probably need a larger size blouse!)
• Give… Share what you receive with others. Tithe, be charitable, and give without looking back. If someone on the street asks you for a dollar for food and you have it to give, don’t question whether they are being honest or what they will do with the money. If they are lying about their need for the money, then they will face the consequences of that, not you. If they are telling the truth, then whatever you give them is not enough.
• Serve… Find a way to help others. Set aside specific time in your schedule to DO SOMETHING for other people. Think about what your gifts might be and how you can help, and then do it. Don’t break your arm patting yourself on the back…it should be a part of our lives. I have failed miserably at this and I’m sorry I did not teach you better.
• Play… This beautiful world is an incredible playground. Don’t miss out on opportunities to play. Take a hike. Have a picnic. Fly a kite. Ride a bike in the country. Join a softball league. Have fun! (Just don’t rock climb or bungee jump or canoe the rapids. Skip all the truly dangerous stuff! Of course, you are your mother’s children too, so if you do plan to do any of those things, please don’t tell me about it!)
• Don’t waste time… I have wasted so much time. I’ve wasted time contemplating how much time I waste. Did I really need to watch that episode of Seinfeld for the fourth time? What do I gain from watching a reality show where other people are out doing something exciting? If it were truly inspiring, then I would miss the next week’s episode because I would be out doing something exciting myself! I’m not saying television is bad (you know me…I love television and movies), but don’t let it distract you from life. Change the name of the place where your TV sits from “Living Room” to “that place I go to rest after I’ve been out Living!”
• Be healthy… All that talk about food never tasting as good as being thin feels…that’s probably true. Personally, I may never know. Cajun Chicken Pasta tastes pretty darn good. Seriously though, this is another area of your life where I have set a terrible example. Forget everything I have ever taught you about Diet and exercise and start over. Do it now.
• Sleep… Never underestimate the benefits of a good night’s sleep. Your body needs it and your mind needs it. If you can take a twenty minute nap in the middle of the day, do it.
• Don’t waste time, part two… Make yourself a better person. Read more, find something that interests you and learn all you can about it. Be curious. Ask questions and demand answers. Get involved in issues that you care about. Vote!
• Do the right thing… Easy enough, right? Just don’t do anything wrong. Is that too lofty a goal? Maybe…but most goals are considered lofty at first. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. Pray for guidance. Filter choices through your heart, and keep your heart in the right place. Use common sense. Most of the bad decisions I have made in my life (and there have been some humdingers!) were pretty obviously bad decisions in the first place but I stupidly, selfishly thought I could make it work on my own. And let’s face it…if you make an obviously bad decision…you are making it on your own. You’re not getting wisdom from a friend. You’re not getting guidance from above. You’re stepping out on that limb alone.
• Have Faith… when that limb does break (and it will), someone will be there to catch you.
We might not be selfish enough to think about it, or certainly to admit it, but we each live in our own world. No matter how charitable, sacrificial and selfless we think we are, we still see the world through our own eyes. We touch with our own skin. We feel with our own heart. Every perception is different. Every vantage point gives a slightly different view. We are individuals. We each make our own choices and we each deal with the repercussions in our own way. At the end of the road, we’ll have no one to blame for our final destination but ourselves.
Despite all the outside influences and things that are totally out of our control, it is the decisions we make ourselves that truly shape our world.
• Who your friends are… Your choice of friends can either build you up or tear you down. Choose wisely. Sometimes a “good” friend is not good for you. Don’t change your values because they make it look appealing. Also, it’s easy to say that it doesn’t matter what other people think…and in general, I agree…but you are often judged by who your friends are. Despite the fact that it is ridiculous and unfair, it happens, and you probably do it too. Choose wisely where you stand and who you stand with.
• Be a good friend… If you make a friend, be one. First and foremost, listen…and pay attention, because you will be quizzed on it later. A friend has a basic expectation that you will remember what is important to them. Keep their confidences. Protect them in discussions when they are not able to protect themselves. Respect their ability to make other friends…because if they are a good friend for you, why wouldn’t they be a good friend for someone else? Be a good friend to their friends. Celebrate their victories and comfort them in their low times. Laugh with them. Cry with them. Want them to be happy.
• Who you marry… A friend, a partner, and most importantly…someone who will forgive you for the many mistakes you will no doubt make in the future. Choose this person even more wisely than all your friends. Pray about it. Set the bar high. Don’t marry someone and expect them to change for you. Don’t plan to “fix them.” Learn their core values and make sure they mesh with yours. Test them out in stressful situations. It’s kind of a test drive for what you are in for the rest of your life. Pray about it some more. Ask every question you can think of before putting on that ring, because the answers are harder to take after you’ve said the vows. Be sure. Be very, very sure.
• Once you are married… (I’ll have to deal with this later. Don’t really want to think that far ahead right now…and it’s kind of making me ill to think about it)
• Do you want a career or just a job? You should always “work to live, and not live to work,” but try to find something you enjoy doing. You will spend most of your weekday, daylight hours doing what you choose. Don’t hate it.
• Where you work… Within the confines of that career/job you must choose who your employer will be. Obviously, they will have something to do with that choice, and your first, second or third choice may not see the benefit of your unique skills, but DO NOT SETTLE…or at least, DO NOT SETTLE FOR LONG. You have to earn a living, but don’t get caught in a rut that you cannot escape from. If you don’t like where you are, keep looking and don’t be afraid to make the jump to something better. Life is short and it’s not worth working in a job you are miserable doing.
• How you work… Take pride in what you do, no matter what you do. Don’t look for the least that you can get away with and still get by. Find ways to improve what you do, even if it’s not noticed by anyone else. Make yourself invaluable. Be willing to learn, serve others and get your hands dirty. That will get you noticed. That will make you feel good about yourself at the end of a long day.
• Save… Easier said than done, I know, but tuck some money away for life’s little surprises. Only use it for emergencies (not vacations or a big screen television). Put it away somewhere safe, easily accessible, and keep adding to it. Then forget it’s there until you really need it.
• Be Frugal… Don’t waste money on pointless items. Set a budget and adhere to it. Make going out to eat a special event, not a daily menu option (you’ll always prefer Outback over home cooked veggies if you get the choice). Choose wisely what you truly need and what you think you want. Ten $5.00 frozen Frappaccinos from Starbucks add up to a really nice blouse. (And if you buy the ten Frappaccinos, then you not only won’t have the money for the clothing purchase, you’ll probably need a larger size blouse!)
• Give… Share what you receive with others. Tithe, be charitable, and give without looking back. If someone on the street asks you for a dollar for food and you have it to give, don’t question whether they are being honest or what they will do with the money. If they are lying about their need for the money, then they will face the consequences of that, not you. If they are telling the truth, then whatever you give them is not enough.
• Serve… Find a way to help others. Set aside specific time in your schedule to DO SOMETHING for other people. Think about what your gifts might be and how you can help, and then do it. Don’t break your arm patting yourself on the back…it should be a part of our lives. I have failed miserably at this and I’m sorry I did not teach you better.
• Play… This beautiful world is an incredible playground. Don’t miss out on opportunities to play. Take a hike. Have a picnic. Fly a kite. Ride a bike in the country. Join a softball league. Have fun! (Just don’t rock climb or bungee jump or canoe the rapids. Skip all the truly dangerous stuff! Of course, you are your mother’s children too, so if you do plan to do any of those things, please don’t tell me about it!)
• Don’t waste time… I have wasted so much time. I’ve wasted time contemplating how much time I waste. Did I really need to watch that episode of Seinfeld for the fourth time? What do I gain from watching a reality show where other people are out doing something exciting? If it were truly inspiring, then I would miss the next week’s episode because I would be out doing something exciting myself! I’m not saying television is bad (you know me…I love television and movies), but don’t let it distract you from life. Change the name of the place where your TV sits from “Living Room” to “that place I go to rest after I’ve been out Living!”
• Be healthy… All that talk about food never tasting as good as being thin feels…that’s probably true. Personally, I may never know. Cajun Chicken Pasta tastes pretty darn good. Seriously though, this is another area of your life where I have set a terrible example. Forget everything I have ever taught you about Diet and exercise and start over. Do it now.
• Sleep… Never underestimate the benefits of a good night’s sleep. Your body needs it and your mind needs it. If you can take a twenty minute nap in the middle of the day, do it.
• Don’t waste time, part two… Make yourself a better person. Read more, find something that interests you and learn all you can about it. Be curious. Ask questions and demand answers. Get involved in issues that you care about. Vote!
• Do the right thing… Easy enough, right? Just don’t do anything wrong. Is that too lofty a goal? Maybe…but most goals are considered lofty at first. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. Pray for guidance. Filter choices through your heart, and keep your heart in the right place. Use common sense. Most of the bad decisions I have made in my life (and there have been some humdingers!) were pretty obviously bad decisions in the first place but I stupidly, selfishly thought I could make it work on my own. And let’s face it…if you make an obviously bad decision…you are making it on your own. You’re not getting wisdom from a friend. You’re not getting guidance from above. You’re stepping out on that limb alone.
• Have Faith… when that limb does break (and it will), someone will be there to catch you.
March 24, 2009
My sweet Ashlyn turns 15 years old today. Hard to believe, and even harder for a Dad to accept. I have been doing pretty well ignoring the fact that Shelby is 18, but Ashlyn growing older, now eligible for a Learners Permit, is a pretty strong reminder that my girls are not little girls anymore. They will have their own lives that won’t involve me all that much, and my fragile, over-protective bubble will soon burst. Every parent has to deal with these issues at some point or another…but they are not me, and I do not deal well.
Losing control isn’t easy for a control freak. Each day my kids get older, and I see their eyes open wider to the life before them and the essential stupidity of the old man at home. They would not say that, but I can see glimmers of it in their eyes. I can’t argue. They would most likely win.
Fortunately, I have really good kids. Kinder, smarter and more talented than I was at that age. Bigger hearts and better people than I am now. I'm not sure how that happened, because I’m pretty sure I’m not THAT good a parent (maybe Connie had to work extra hard to make up for my deficiencies). It’s worth repeating: they are really good kids.
All three kids are very different. Shelby is calm, stable…the firm foundation. She has always been older and wiser than her years. Taylor is cursed with my questioning nature. She’s the spoon that stirs the pot, keeping all the ingredients of our family mixed together. Ashlyn, a middle child like me, is the sensitive heart. She can get angry and frustrated, but her heart melts quickly for others.
An Ashlyn story: When Ashlyn was a toddler, she did not like to go to bed. She was so full of energy that she had to run it all out before collapsing into sleep. This did not always happen by 8:30pm. In fact, this never happened by 8:30pm. Being good parents who had read books on being good parents, we set a scheduled bedtime and expected Ashlyn to adhere to it. Ashlyn had other plans.
Every night, we dutifully tucked Ashlyn in bed, despite her cries that she was “not sleepy.” Within two minutes she would be out of bed, wanting a drink, wanting to watch another episode of “Full House” (oh, how I hated the Tanner family!), wanting to play. She was stubborn…and it was hard to say no because Ashlyn was adorable in her little pink pajamas and her blonde hair and big blue eyes. The first few minutes were a playful tug of war, almost sweet, almost comical. But we were stubborn too…and we insisted she go back to bed…and that’s when the demon Ashlyn would emerge. Screaming and flailing around the room, laying on the floor kicking. It was ugly. It was a little bit scary.
We talked to her doctor. We talked to other parents. We talked to clergy and even considered Exorcism. The doctor said we should close and lock the door. We hadn’t thought of that. It almost seemed abusive, but we were fairly desperate at that point. Of course, our bedroom doors do not lock from the outside (why would you want to lock someone “inside” a bedroom?), so we closed the door and held it with our hands. For the next 54 minutes (yes, I kept count) Ashlyn raged inside that room and slammed against that door. It sounded as if we had trapped a donkey and a rattlesnake in the room, and the donkey was really unhappy about it. Ashlyn was screaming and crying, pleading with us to let her out. Connie and I were crying too, sure that we were psychologically scarring our child (and also a little frightened for our lives).
Eventually, there was silence. We waited longer, fearing a trap, and then quietly tried to open the door. It was not so easy, because Ashlyn had fallen asleep against the door and her tiny, exhausted body lay like a heavy door stop across the threshold. I suggested we leave her there, fearing that we awaken the monster once more, but Connie prevailed and we placed her in her cozy bed, where she curled up with her soft puffalump doll and looked so sweet and angelic that we had to question whether the whole episode had been in our minds. It wasn’t.
We gave up the door idea after a week of nights sitting on the floor outside her room holding the knob while Ashlyn ranted and raved inside. We went back to dealing with her face to screaming face.
This continued for a while until one night I remembered a passage from the book Little Women. As Ashlyn was throwing a tantrum, I knelt on the floor beside her, on her level. I got her attention and asked her to make a fist. She didn’t at first, but I insisted and when she did finally curl her fingers into a tiny little fist, she asked “why?” I told her, “I want you to pull your arm back and hit me as hard as you can.” Ashlyn stopped crying and stood still (something she did not do very often). “I’m not going to hit you Daddy,” she said, sweet Ashlyn taking control of wild Ashlyn. I looked her straight in the eye and told her, “you couldn’t hurt me any worse than you are doing right now, so you might as well hit me.”
A look of realization hit her and her lip began to tremble. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she collapsed into my arms. “I’m sorry Daddy,” she said, “I’m sorry.” She sobbed and I held her, telling her I loved her. I tucked her into bed, kissed her good night and she rolled over and closed her eyes. That was the last night we had a problem with Ashlyn going to bed.
Every child is different. I would not have tried that with Shelby (never would have had to try. Shelby went to bed when she was told). Definitely wouldn’t try that with Taylor. She would have said “my fist is a little small Dad, but I saw a two by four outside…can I hit you with that?” (She’s a proactive problem solver, like her Dad!). If they were all the same, life would be pretty boring.
Happy Birthday, Ashlyn. I hope your sensitive heart is never broken, and that you never lose that smile that warms up every room you enter. I am very proud to be your Dad. I love you, sweetheart!
Losing control isn’t easy for a control freak. Each day my kids get older, and I see their eyes open wider to the life before them and the essential stupidity of the old man at home. They would not say that, but I can see glimmers of it in their eyes. I can’t argue. They would most likely win.
Fortunately, I have really good kids. Kinder, smarter and more talented than I was at that age. Bigger hearts and better people than I am now. I'm not sure how that happened, because I’m pretty sure I’m not THAT good a parent (maybe Connie had to work extra hard to make up for my deficiencies). It’s worth repeating: they are really good kids.
All three kids are very different. Shelby is calm, stable…the firm foundation. She has always been older and wiser than her years. Taylor is cursed with my questioning nature. She’s the spoon that stirs the pot, keeping all the ingredients of our family mixed together. Ashlyn, a middle child like me, is the sensitive heart. She can get angry and frustrated, but her heart melts quickly for others.
An Ashlyn story: When Ashlyn was a toddler, she did not like to go to bed. She was so full of energy that she had to run it all out before collapsing into sleep. This did not always happen by 8:30pm. In fact, this never happened by 8:30pm. Being good parents who had read books on being good parents, we set a scheduled bedtime and expected Ashlyn to adhere to it. Ashlyn had other plans.
Every night, we dutifully tucked Ashlyn in bed, despite her cries that she was “not sleepy.” Within two minutes she would be out of bed, wanting a drink, wanting to watch another episode of “Full House” (oh, how I hated the Tanner family!), wanting to play. She was stubborn…and it was hard to say no because Ashlyn was adorable in her little pink pajamas and her blonde hair and big blue eyes. The first few minutes were a playful tug of war, almost sweet, almost comical. But we were stubborn too…and we insisted she go back to bed…and that’s when the demon Ashlyn would emerge. Screaming and flailing around the room, laying on the floor kicking. It was ugly. It was a little bit scary.
We talked to her doctor. We talked to other parents. We talked to clergy and even considered Exorcism. The doctor said we should close and lock the door. We hadn’t thought of that. It almost seemed abusive, but we were fairly desperate at that point. Of course, our bedroom doors do not lock from the outside (why would you want to lock someone “inside” a bedroom?), so we closed the door and held it with our hands. For the next 54 minutes (yes, I kept count) Ashlyn raged inside that room and slammed against that door. It sounded as if we had trapped a donkey and a rattlesnake in the room, and the donkey was really unhappy about it. Ashlyn was screaming and crying, pleading with us to let her out. Connie and I were crying too, sure that we were psychologically scarring our child (and also a little frightened for our lives).
Eventually, there was silence. We waited longer, fearing a trap, and then quietly tried to open the door. It was not so easy, because Ashlyn had fallen asleep against the door and her tiny, exhausted body lay like a heavy door stop across the threshold. I suggested we leave her there, fearing that we awaken the monster once more, but Connie prevailed and we placed her in her cozy bed, where she curled up with her soft puffalump doll and looked so sweet and angelic that we had to question whether the whole episode had been in our minds. It wasn’t.
We gave up the door idea after a week of nights sitting on the floor outside her room holding the knob while Ashlyn ranted and raved inside. We went back to dealing with her face to screaming face.
This continued for a while until one night I remembered a passage from the book Little Women. As Ashlyn was throwing a tantrum, I knelt on the floor beside her, on her level. I got her attention and asked her to make a fist. She didn’t at first, but I insisted and when she did finally curl her fingers into a tiny little fist, she asked “why?” I told her, “I want you to pull your arm back and hit me as hard as you can.” Ashlyn stopped crying and stood still (something she did not do very often). “I’m not going to hit you Daddy,” she said, sweet Ashlyn taking control of wild Ashlyn. I looked her straight in the eye and told her, “you couldn’t hurt me any worse than you are doing right now, so you might as well hit me.”
A look of realization hit her and her lip began to tremble. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she collapsed into my arms. “I’m sorry Daddy,” she said, “I’m sorry.” She sobbed and I held her, telling her I loved her. I tucked her into bed, kissed her good night and she rolled over and closed her eyes. That was the last night we had a problem with Ashlyn going to bed.
Every child is different. I would not have tried that with Shelby (never would have had to try. Shelby went to bed when she was told). Definitely wouldn’t try that with Taylor. She would have said “my fist is a little small Dad, but I saw a two by four outside…can I hit you with that?” (She’s a proactive problem solver, like her Dad!). If they were all the same, life would be pretty boring.
Happy Birthday, Ashlyn. I hope your sensitive heart is never broken, and that you never lose that smile that warms up every room you enter. I am very proud to be your Dad. I love you, sweetheart!
Pet Sounds
I am not a pet person.
It's not that I don't like animals, or that I can't look at a baby chimpanzee or a puppy or a kitten and go "awwwww!" I loved Lassie and Flipper and Gentle Ben as a kid. I like animals. I just don't like being a "pet owner."We had a couple of small dogs when I was a kid. Both died from unfortunate interactions with motor vehicles. My mother took it hardest, crying like she had lost a child when “Tippy” died. It might have been then that I realized I didn’t want to have to compete with a dog for attention, because I would probably lose. I was simply not as playful, not as cute, and it cost more to feed me.
Connie’s family had a cat throughout her childhood and it died while she was in college. When we married, she wanted a cat, and since my goal was, is and always shall be to make her happy, I got her one. When we moved to Tennessee, I don’t think it liked the climate, the color orange or the accents because it ran away (either back to Kentucky or to a life of leisure as Queen Mascot at a Florida retirement home).
In the mid-nineties we acquired two stray cats that lived with us for about three months. One escaped and was promptly hit by a car in front of our house. The other cat escaped as well, and the story of its tragic destiny and ultimate doom are still told around campfires, at sleepovers and in hushed whispers at certain holiday parties when the mood becomes just a bit too festive. (I would tell the story now, but I’m shopping around the movie rights. Spielberg has shown some interest).
Needless to say, as we entered the new Millennium, our history with pets had not been good.
But all kids want a pet. My girls are no different. They desperately wanted a dog. They’d seen them in movies and they’ve seen other people playing happily with them in the park. If only they had a dog, their life would be perfect. They wanted a dog and I was the mean, evil Dad for not letting them have one. A few years back, Shelby had a boyfriend who decided to get her a dog for Christmas. She wanted a “lap” dog. A cuddly, little fur ball that she could hold while watching TV. He got her a German Sheppard.
Whether it was the disappointment in not getting the cuddly lap dog she wanted, or fear that the rapidly growing dog would attack and kill her in her sleep, Shelby never grew attached to her gift. One day, about three weeks into her first pet ownership experience, I tried to explain to her the responsibility of having a dog. They need love, I told her. They need time and attention. I reminded her that this dog would be a companion for her and they would be together probably through her college years. She looked at me with a face full of stunned realization and said, “you mean they live that long?” I knew then that Shelby was not a pet person either…and so we said goodbye to that dog.
Two years ago, we got a cat. I don’t really remember how it happened. I was on travel. I got a call. Something was said about something and I grunted agreeably. When I got home, there was a cat.
Her name was “Manna” (don’t ask me why because I do not know) and she loved being near me. It didn’t matter that everyone else wanted her to be in their lap or playing with them, she preferred me. I think cats can sense those poor, sad folks that have violent allergic reactions to cat hair, and out of some extreme sense of cat compassion, they want to give them love. Manna tried to love me to death.
Taylor, our youngest, had always wanted a pet of her own. She and Manna did not, do not and likely will never get along. As much as the cat wanted to be with me (a person who not only could have cared less about it but also got sick in its mere presence), she completely ignored Taylor (who desperately wanted to play with it). It’s the kind of cruel behavior that only a cat or a high school cheerleader would think is fun.
Connie was positive that Taylor needed a dog. Dogs, she said, give love unconditionally, and that’s exactly what Taylor needed to make up for the self esteem hit she took from the sociopathic cat. Fair enough, I thought, and hopefully, the dog will eat the feline. I went with it, and a little over a month ago we brought home “Bella.”
If you actually want to have a dog, Bella couldn’t be more perfect. She trained within twenty-four hours, becoming so obsessed with using her indoor “puppy pad” that she wouldn’t even pee outdoors. She stays quietly in her crate all night and has not yet chewed on our new furniture. She plays when we want to play, and when we don’t, she generally lays around, eating and staring at the TV. She’s pretty much a dog version of our family.
Still, she’s a puppy, and therefore needs to be trained in a lot of areas. She gets hyper sometimes and runs behind the couch, digs into plants, jumps in my recliner. We seem to constantly be saying “no” which in dog language must sound like “good dog, do it faster.” She likes to bite on the girl’s pants legs, which sends Taylor into screaming fits because she’s sure the dog will chew her leg off. Connie and I learned that we not only have to train the dog, but we have to train the girls (and ourselves) on how to train the dog. It’s a lot of work. It’s like having another baby, and Connie promised me that we were done with all that.
Our house is divided into “pet zones.” The downstairs belongs to Manna, and the upstairs to Bella. There is no longer a “Bruce” zone. Everywhere I go there is a pet or evidence of pets. Chew toys in the living room, gritty spillage out of the litter box in the laundry room. Even a peaceful moment in the bathroom is usually interrupted by the soft tapping of a paw on the door, a constant reminder that they are in control and I have nowhere to hide, even in my own home.
I must take a moment to admit that a great deal of my aversion to pet ownership is purely selfish. I don’t like being tied down. I like spur of the moment ideas. I like the freedom to come home on Friday night and say “let’s go to the mountains for the weekend.” Now, we have to consider the pets. Vacations now have to be planned with the pets in mind. Someone has to come to our house to feed the cat. The dog will likely have to be boarded, which means that I not only have to budget a vacation for my family, but also for the dog.
Another thing I find disturbing that I’m now “responsible” for these living creatures. My little red wagon is almost too heavy to pull with the weight of what I already feel responsible for. Adding a dog, a cat and a twenty five pound bag of kitty litter puts extra strain on my back, my mind, and my wallet that I just don’t need. Now we have Vet bills, different types of pet food to buy, chew toys, de-wormers, puppy pads, dog shampoo, and other things I’m sure Connie doesn’t even tell me because she doesn’t want to see that look on my face when I hear of a new “pet expense.”
I know that a lot of people love being pet owners. Good for them. I hope they are happy. I know that I am probably in the minority. I am in the minority in my own home 99.9% of the time and that’s okay. I’m a loner. A rebel. I don’t need everyone to agree with me. I just want enough understanding that it keeps me out of the doghouse.
It's not that I don't like animals, or that I can't look at a baby chimpanzee or a puppy or a kitten and go "awwwww!" I loved Lassie and Flipper and Gentle Ben as a kid. I like animals. I just don't like being a "pet owner."We had a couple of small dogs when I was a kid. Both died from unfortunate interactions with motor vehicles. My mother took it hardest, crying like she had lost a child when “Tippy” died. It might have been then that I realized I didn’t want to have to compete with a dog for attention, because I would probably lose. I was simply not as playful, not as cute, and it cost more to feed me.
Connie’s family had a cat throughout her childhood and it died while she was in college. When we married, she wanted a cat, and since my goal was, is and always shall be to make her happy, I got her one. When we moved to Tennessee, I don’t think it liked the climate, the color orange or the accents because it ran away (either back to Kentucky or to a life of leisure as Queen Mascot at a Florida retirement home).
In the mid-nineties we acquired two stray cats that lived with us for about three months. One escaped and was promptly hit by a car in front of our house. The other cat escaped as well, and the story of its tragic destiny and ultimate doom are still told around campfires, at sleepovers and in hushed whispers at certain holiday parties when the mood becomes just a bit too festive. (I would tell the story now, but I’m shopping around the movie rights. Spielberg has shown some interest).
Needless to say, as we entered the new Millennium, our history with pets had not been good.
But all kids want a pet. My girls are no different. They desperately wanted a dog. They’d seen them in movies and they’ve seen other people playing happily with them in the park. If only they had a dog, their life would be perfect. They wanted a dog and I was the mean, evil Dad for not letting them have one. A few years back, Shelby had a boyfriend who decided to get her a dog for Christmas. She wanted a “lap” dog. A cuddly, little fur ball that she could hold while watching TV. He got her a German Sheppard.
Whether it was the disappointment in not getting the cuddly lap dog she wanted, or fear that the rapidly growing dog would attack and kill her in her sleep, Shelby never grew attached to her gift. One day, about three weeks into her first pet ownership experience, I tried to explain to her the responsibility of having a dog. They need love, I told her. They need time and attention. I reminded her that this dog would be a companion for her and they would be together probably through her college years. She looked at me with a face full of stunned realization and said, “you mean they live that long?” I knew then that Shelby was not a pet person either…and so we said goodbye to that dog.
Two years ago, we got a cat. I don’t really remember how it happened. I was on travel. I got a call. Something was said about something and I grunted agreeably. When I got home, there was a cat.
Her name was “Manna” (don’t ask me why because I do not know) and she loved being near me. It didn’t matter that everyone else wanted her to be in their lap or playing with them, she preferred me. I think cats can sense those poor, sad folks that have violent allergic reactions to cat hair, and out of some extreme sense of cat compassion, they want to give them love. Manna tried to love me to death.
Taylor, our youngest, had always wanted a pet of her own. She and Manna did not, do not and likely will never get along. As much as the cat wanted to be with me (a person who not only could have cared less about it but also got sick in its mere presence), she completely ignored Taylor (who desperately wanted to play with it). It’s the kind of cruel behavior that only a cat or a high school cheerleader would think is fun.
Connie was positive that Taylor needed a dog. Dogs, she said, give love unconditionally, and that’s exactly what Taylor needed to make up for the self esteem hit she took from the sociopathic cat. Fair enough, I thought, and hopefully, the dog will eat the feline. I went with it, and a little over a month ago we brought home “Bella.”
If you actually want to have a dog, Bella couldn’t be more perfect. She trained within twenty-four hours, becoming so obsessed with using her indoor “puppy pad” that she wouldn’t even pee outdoors. She stays quietly in her crate all night and has not yet chewed on our new furniture. She plays when we want to play, and when we don’t, she generally lays around, eating and staring at the TV. She’s pretty much a dog version of our family.
Still, she’s a puppy, and therefore needs to be trained in a lot of areas. She gets hyper sometimes and runs behind the couch, digs into plants, jumps in my recliner. We seem to constantly be saying “no” which in dog language must sound like “good dog, do it faster.” She likes to bite on the girl’s pants legs, which sends Taylor into screaming fits because she’s sure the dog will chew her leg off. Connie and I learned that we not only have to train the dog, but we have to train the girls (and ourselves) on how to train the dog. It’s a lot of work. It’s like having another baby, and Connie promised me that we were done with all that.
Our house is divided into “pet zones.” The downstairs belongs to Manna, and the upstairs to Bella. There is no longer a “Bruce” zone. Everywhere I go there is a pet or evidence of pets. Chew toys in the living room, gritty spillage out of the litter box in the laundry room. Even a peaceful moment in the bathroom is usually interrupted by the soft tapping of a paw on the door, a constant reminder that they are in control and I have nowhere to hide, even in my own home.
I must take a moment to admit that a great deal of my aversion to pet ownership is purely selfish. I don’t like being tied down. I like spur of the moment ideas. I like the freedom to come home on Friday night and say “let’s go to the mountains for the weekend.” Now, we have to consider the pets. Vacations now have to be planned with the pets in mind. Someone has to come to our house to feed the cat. The dog will likely have to be boarded, which means that I not only have to budget a vacation for my family, but also for the dog.
Another thing I find disturbing that I’m now “responsible” for these living creatures. My little red wagon is almost too heavy to pull with the weight of what I already feel responsible for. Adding a dog, a cat and a twenty five pound bag of kitty litter puts extra strain on my back, my mind, and my wallet that I just don’t need. Now we have Vet bills, different types of pet food to buy, chew toys, de-wormers, puppy pads, dog shampoo, and other things I’m sure Connie doesn’t even tell me because she doesn’t want to see that look on my face when I hear of a new “pet expense.”
I know that a lot of people love being pet owners. Good for them. I hope they are happy. I know that I am probably in the minority. I am in the minority in my own home 99.9% of the time and that’s okay. I’m a loner. A rebel. I don’t need everyone to agree with me. I just want enough understanding that it keeps me out of the doghouse.
Facebook Boogie
It's strange, my tortured relationship with this whole Facebook thing. It started as a way to check out what my kids were doing, and now it's my digital BFF. For me, it's become that little extra connection with home on all those nights spent in lonely hotel rooms. It's also become the High School Reunion I could not attend, putting me back in touch with friends I have not heard from in years.
I love the status updates my friends post. Without Facebook, how would I know that Mark just saw a movie or that Gina doesn't know where to go on vacation? Sometimes the updates are as mundane as "I'm having a cup of coffee," but I also learn about family events and health issues. We share life's victories and frustrations, laughs and tears, problems and solutions...and because we are all "Friends"....we care, right? Well, call me a sentimental fool, but I honestly think we do (at least a little bit).
Of course, it's not all daisies and grape kool aid in Facebook land. Like all good things, there are a few irritations. I wish that Friend requests allowed you to look at a person’s profile before you add them as a friend. It only seems right, doesn't it? Some names I recognize instantly, but others might need a little profile assist to help me remember just who you are (and whether you are worthy of being in my cherished friends list). I've had requests from folks who have no connection to me at all, but merely seem to be trying to boost their "friend" number. If that's what makes them happy, more power to them...but I'm a bit more selective. I am not a number. I'm a human being.
And speaking of "recognizing names," I often find myself scratching my head and asking "Who is this person?" when I look at my high school classmates list in Facebook. I've even pulled out my yearbook and tried to find them to no avail. What's up with that? It's a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, dipped in confusion.
Another problem with Facebook is the shifting of boundaries. The company that has employed me for the last nineteen years has it's own "group." Like I need that. Facebook is supposed to be my escape. I think about work much more than I should anyway. I keep getting "friend requests" or "friend suggestions" for people in my workplace. Some have been added (and don't you feel special now?), some have been ignored, while others wait in my mental reception area as I try to decide if they truly are "friends" or just "co-workers." Since I tend to vent, rant, tease and otherwise "expose myself" on my Facebook page, I have to ask, "how much do I really want them to know?"
Finally, I keep getting these "Bruce, your rankings have changed" emails. Now, I don't remember signing onto a Facebook application that would rank me against others. It's not the kind of thing I would do. I know how these things usually work out for me, and it's not good for my self-esteem. Still, I get these emails. Today, the email informs me that I lost my place in a number of races.
Changes in your ranks:
#7 most creative (lost 1 place)
#8 most powerful (lost 1 place)
#16 most cuddly (lost 2 places)
#16 most entertaining (lost 1 place)
#18 hottest (lost 1 place)
Who makes these lists? More importantly, why do I care that I am losing ground?Okay...I'll not even try to argue about the "most powerful" or "hottest" ranking. Frankly, I can't imagine what bizzarro universe exists where I even made those lists. More than likely, my inclusion is some kind of initiation ritual or hazing (you know the kind where the person who brings the ugliest or least socially acceptable to a party will win a prize). But I digress. I will admit that I might have had brief moments of creativity and potential entertainment value (usually at my own expense). I suppose that my placement on these lists say less about me than it does about everyone else on the list.
The one rank that bothers me most, the one that shall haunt me till the day I die, is that I only placed #16 as "most cuddly." How can this be? Who is cuddlier than I? More to the point, how can there be FIFTEEN people more cuddly than I? This has shaken me to my core. While others have dedicated their life to the betterment of others, or impressive works of artistic achievement, I have quietly dedicated myself to the subtle practice of cuddling. It is my gift. It is my curse. And yet, according to Facebook, it is just one more failure I must face. Most cuddly, I am not.
My one bit of delusional hope is that Facebook is now allowing Koala Bears to become members. Their cuddle powers tower over those of any mere mortal man.
I love the status updates my friends post. Without Facebook, how would I know that Mark just saw a movie or that Gina doesn't know where to go on vacation? Sometimes the updates are as mundane as "I'm having a cup of coffee," but I also learn about family events and health issues. We share life's victories and frustrations, laughs and tears, problems and solutions...and because we are all "Friends"....we care, right? Well, call me a sentimental fool, but I honestly think we do (at least a little bit).
Of course, it's not all daisies and grape kool aid in Facebook land. Like all good things, there are a few irritations. I wish that Friend requests allowed you to look at a person’s profile before you add them as a friend. It only seems right, doesn't it? Some names I recognize instantly, but others might need a little profile assist to help me remember just who you are (and whether you are worthy of being in my cherished friends list). I've had requests from folks who have no connection to me at all, but merely seem to be trying to boost their "friend" number. If that's what makes them happy, more power to them...but I'm a bit more selective. I am not a number. I'm a human being.
And speaking of "recognizing names," I often find myself scratching my head and asking "Who is this person?" when I look at my high school classmates list in Facebook. I've even pulled out my yearbook and tried to find them to no avail. What's up with that? It's a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, dipped in confusion.
Another problem with Facebook is the shifting of boundaries. The company that has employed me for the last nineteen years has it's own "group." Like I need that. Facebook is supposed to be my escape. I think about work much more than I should anyway. I keep getting "friend requests" or "friend suggestions" for people in my workplace. Some have been added (and don't you feel special now?), some have been ignored, while others wait in my mental reception area as I try to decide if they truly are "friends" or just "co-workers." Since I tend to vent, rant, tease and otherwise "expose myself" on my Facebook page, I have to ask, "how much do I really want them to know?"
Finally, I keep getting these "Bruce, your rankings have changed" emails. Now, I don't remember signing onto a Facebook application that would rank me against others. It's not the kind of thing I would do. I know how these things usually work out for me, and it's not good for my self-esteem. Still, I get these emails. Today, the email informs me that I lost my place in a number of races.
Changes in your ranks:
#7 most creative (lost 1 place)
#8 most powerful (lost 1 place)
#16 most cuddly (lost 2 places)
#16 most entertaining (lost 1 place)
#18 hottest (lost 1 place)
Who makes these lists? More importantly, why do I care that I am losing ground?Okay...I'll not even try to argue about the "most powerful" or "hottest" ranking. Frankly, I can't imagine what bizzarro universe exists where I even made those lists. More than likely, my inclusion is some kind of initiation ritual or hazing (you know the kind where the person who brings the ugliest or least socially acceptable to a party will win a prize). But I digress. I will admit that I might have had brief moments of creativity and potential entertainment value (usually at my own expense). I suppose that my placement on these lists say less about me than it does about everyone else on the list.
The one rank that bothers me most, the one that shall haunt me till the day I die, is that I only placed #16 as "most cuddly." How can this be? Who is cuddlier than I? More to the point, how can there be FIFTEEN people more cuddly than I? This has shaken me to my core. While others have dedicated their life to the betterment of others, or impressive works of artistic achievement, I have quietly dedicated myself to the subtle practice of cuddling. It is my gift. It is my curse. And yet, according to Facebook, it is just one more failure I must face. Most cuddly, I am not.
My one bit of delusional hope is that Facebook is now allowing Koala Bears to become members. Their cuddle powers tower over those of any mere mortal man.
My Pet Peeves (part one)
(this is my own list. I’m not tagging anyone to force or shame them to try to make their own. It’s just my own grouchy list of Pet Peeves. You probably won’t agree with most of them, but agreeing on everything is over-rated…and also one of my minor pet peeves).
1: Obilivious people (you know the kind…they stop to talk in middle of stairways as you’re trying to exit. They walk side by side and don’t budge when you try to pass on a sidewalk. They zone out on music, cell phones or shiny objects while driving. In general, these are people who do not realize that other people exist.)
2: Rude movie people (people who talk, laugh too loud, answer their cell phone, text, crunch too loudly or sit right in front or behind me when the theater is practically empty)
3: Cars with loud music (are these people deaf? If by just sitting next to, behind or in front of them, my car shakes like we’re experiencing an earthquake, their music might be turned up a tad too much)
4: Those channel identifiers in the corner of the TV (I know what channel I am on, or I wouldn’t be there)
5: People who balance their check book in the grocery checkout lane (do that at home, I’m in a hurry…or better yet, use a Debit card, it’s 2009! )
6: Loud talking cell phone people (these people like to walk and talk…and they talk loudly! They want everyone to hear what is going on in their life, and they just don’t understand how little we care. **This is made worse by those blue tooth earpieces which make it difficult to even tell that they are on the phone. At first you wonder if they are talking to you, then you think that they just might be crazy).
7: Smokers who complain about not being able to smoke in restaurants (a law in Tennessee)“what about my rights? I’m not hurting anyone? It ain’t right!” Yeah…all that research and data on “second hand smoke” and cancer…that’s just a conspiracy to make your life miserable!)
8: beets (ewwww)
9: Nancy Pelosi (She may be Speaker of the House, but she doesn’t Speak for me)
10: Rush Limbaugh (as the book title says, and who am I to disagree, “Rush Limbaugh is a big, fat idiot”)
11: Uber-Republicans
1: Obilivious people (you know the kind…they stop to talk in middle of stairways as you’re trying to exit. They walk side by side and don’t budge when you try to pass on a sidewalk. They zone out on music, cell phones or shiny objects while driving. In general, these are people who do not realize that other people exist.)
2: Rude movie people (people who talk, laugh too loud, answer their cell phone, text, crunch too loudly or sit right in front or behind me when the theater is practically empty)
3: Cars with loud music (are these people deaf? If by just sitting next to, behind or in front of them, my car shakes like we’re experiencing an earthquake, their music might be turned up a tad too much)
4: Those channel identifiers in the corner of the TV (I know what channel I am on, or I wouldn’t be there)
5: People who balance their check book in the grocery checkout lane (do that at home, I’m in a hurry…or better yet, use a Debit card, it’s 2009! )
6: Loud talking cell phone people (these people like to walk and talk…and they talk loudly! They want everyone to hear what is going on in their life, and they just don’t understand how little we care. **This is made worse by those blue tooth earpieces which make it difficult to even tell that they are on the phone. At first you wonder if they are talking to you, then you think that they just might be crazy).
7: Smokers who complain about not being able to smoke in restaurants (a law in Tennessee)“what about my rights? I’m not hurting anyone? It ain’t right!” Yeah…all that research and data on “second hand smoke” and cancer…that’s just a conspiracy to make your life miserable!)
8: beets (ewwww)
9: Nancy Pelosi (She may be Speaker of the House, but she doesn’t Speak for me)
10: Rush Limbaugh (as the book title says, and who am I to disagree, “Rush Limbaugh is a big, fat idiot”)
11: Uber-Republicans
- “if you can’t take care of yourself, don’t expect us to help you!”
- “providing health care for children and the elderly…that’s socialism!”
- “I need my Uzi to hunt deer!”
12: Uber-Democrats
- “we’re like Robin Hood, we rob from the rich and give to the undeserving”
- “Don’t think of it as BIG government, it’s still got lots of room to grow!”
- “We are trying to be bi-partisan, but they won’t agree with us.”
13: chit chat (I can look out the window or watch the news to know about the weather. I won’t bore you with stories about my sore back, so please don’t bore me with stories about your ingrown toenail. Tell me something interesting or tell me what I need to know and then go.)
14: Bad servers in restaurants (don’t gripe when I leave you a 5% tip when my glass of tea sat empty for 95% of my meal)
15: People who don’t tip good servers (if you can’t afford to tip, you should go to McDonald’s)
16: Places that serve Hot Wings but don’t offer Bleu Cheese dressing, only Ranch. (There should be a law)
17 : People who spank their kids to get them to stop crying (often seen in Wal-Mart or grocery check-out lines, this style of parenting works like going on a Twinkie diet so you can lose weight)
18: People who bring their kids to inappropriate movies (Get a babysitter or wait for the DVD, but don’t bring little Betty or Bobby to see “Jason Slaughters 30 Semi-naked Coeds with an Ax!” The ratings are there for a reason, and just because you are a lousy parent, don’t ruin the movie for the rest of us because we are worried about the scarred psyche of your toddler)
19: Me: (I’m becoming grouchy in my advancing age. Did you get a load of this list of Pet Peeve’s? What’s my problem? Geez! Unbelievable! Worst of all…I’m a procrastinator. I was going to do a list of 25 “Pet Peeve’s” but I’m stopping here for now. I’ll do the rest later.)
What I want for my daughters
…a guy who will call you “beautiful” instead of “hot”
…who will hold your hand when he is with his friends
… who will call you back after you hang up on him
… who thinks you are just as pretty without makeup
… who will open the door for you
…a guy who respects and understands you enough to not even ask the questions you will say “no” to
…who looks at your face more than the screen while at a movie
…who wants to be a better person so he can deserve to be with you
…who wants to show you off
…who waits an appropriate amount of time to say “I love you” (But knew it the instant he saw you)
…who tells everyone that YOU are his best friend
…who will take you shopping and be happy about it
…who respects and honors his parents, because if he can’t do that, he can’t respect and honor you
…a guy who sends you flowers…just because it’s Tuesday
…who is confident enough to tell you how he feels, but humble enough to know he doesn’t deserve you
…who isn’t jealous when you hang with your friends, but misses you every minute you are gone
…a man who has the same beliefs as you
…who wants to spend Eternity with you
…and knows how to do that
…who will be a good father to your children
…who will provide for you…sacrifice for you…protect you
If you find a guy like that
…I hope he makes your heart soar.
...I hope he makes you wish you were with him when you aren’t
...I hope he makes you want to be a better person.I hope you love him without doubt or disappointment…forever and ever.
…who will hold your hand when he is with his friends
… who will call you back after you hang up on him
… who thinks you are just as pretty without makeup
… who will open the door for you
…a guy who respects and understands you enough to not even ask the questions you will say “no” to
…who looks at your face more than the screen while at a movie
…who wants to be a better person so he can deserve to be with you
…who wants to show you off
…who waits an appropriate amount of time to say “I love you” (But knew it the instant he saw you)
…who tells everyone that YOU are his best friend
…who will take you shopping and be happy about it
…who respects and honors his parents, because if he can’t do that, he can’t respect and honor you
…a guy who sends you flowers…just because it’s Tuesday
…who is confident enough to tell you how he feels, but humble enough to know he doesn’t deserve you
…who isn’t jealous when you hang with your friends, but misses you every minute you are gone
…a man who has the same beliefs as you
…who wants to spend Eternity with you
…and knows how to do that
…who will be a good father to your children
…who will provide for you…sacrifice for you…protect you
If you find a guy like that
…I hope he makes your heart soar.
...I hope he makes you wish you were with him when you aren’t
...I hope he makes you want to be a better person.I hope you love him without doubt or disappointment…forever and ever.
Philadelphia (December 2008)
There's something magical about December in the big city. The street lights are a little brighter. People passing you on the sidewalk are a little less rude than in other months. The panhandlers wish you "Merry Christmas" whether you give them a dollar or not. Even the smells coming from the sewer and subway vents are not quite as noxious as usual. It's around 6:15am each morning as I begin the five block walk from my Center City hotel to the location of my meeting and I love the look and feel of the city rising from sleep. I pass two Dunkin Donuts on the way and they are full of folks needing that first cup of coffee and a sugar boost. It's too early for the street venders and their rolling carts of highly processed goodies (they roll out about 7am) but that is a good thing. The carts and everything hanging off of them are covered in a sheen of grease from the sausages, hot dogs and a variety of other gastric monstrosities they fry up inside. The aroma surrounding these carts is not a pleasant wake up call and is better suited for later in the day when you need a violent jolt to the senses.So, I reach my destination...and it's treasure of coffee and sliced fruits and bagels. Outside my conference room window is the towering City Hall and the sounds of the city taunting me. It's almost as if each siren, truck horn and jackhammer is saying "Merry Christmas, Bruce! Welcome to Philadelphia! Come out and play!" Maybe someday, my friend...you City of Brotherly Love...but when I leave this place today, I will race the dark blanket of evening back to my cozy hotel room. From there I will watch the city from my high window and marvel at the goings on, gawking like the country boy that I am. Then the battle within my mind will begin; do I venture down into the evening revelry (where I seem wear a hat that says "rube") or do I stay safe behind the locked doors and watch a repeat of Law and Order where a tourist gets murdered?
Clearing the cobwebs
I have been looking for an outlet for the myriad ideas, notions, ramblings and tidbits that pop into my head from time to time. I've been using Facebook Notes lately to express myself, and might continue, but this seemed like a logical extension of that. I won't necessarily have a focused area of discussion...just whatever I want to write about at any given time. (you have been warned!).
I'm going to post some of my old notes first and then go from there. Away we go...
I'm going to post some of my old notes first and then go from there. Away we go...
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